


loving everything you do

by sunlightdances (glowinghorizons)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 10:14:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16830613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowinghorizons/pseuds/sunlightdances
Summary: The washer broke. It’s not your fault that the only thing near you at the time was some of Dean’s clothes, okay.





	loving everything you do

“Is that my shirt?” Dean’s voice startles you, and you let out a noise that you’re going to deny ever happened later, but right now all you can concentrate on is the _burning_ feeling on your wrist as you watch your coffee slosh back into your mug. “Shit,” Dean says, coming closer, “Sorry. You okay?”

“Stings,” you say dryly, “Why are you sneaking up on me like that?” You glare at him over your shoulder as you grab a tissue, cleaning up your mess.

“Why are you wearing my clothes?”

“Oh, the laundry’s broken.” You tell him, nonchalantly. You absolutely aren’t going to mention that you attempted to fix the washer this morning, and probably ended up making it worse.

He looks incredulous, “Okay…”

“Okay, so, you had a pile of stuff on the dryer, I didn’t think you’d–” You start to pull of his flannel shirt, unbuttoned overtop of your t-shirt, but he holds up a hand.

“I don’t. I don’t _mind_ , it’s just–”

“You’re doing that thing.” You say, pointing at him. “That thing that guys do.”

He exhales hard through his nose. “Excuse me?”

“You know.” You get up from your seat at the kitchen table, dumping your mug in the sink. “Seeing me wear your clothes has you all tingly inside.”

He rolls his eyes, but you can see him trying not to smile. “That’s not–”

“It’s fine, Dean. I know I’m irresistible!” You tell him, grinning. This is fun, you think to yourself. Dean has always been a flirt, but it’s never gone further than that, which has been fine with you, mostly. You want to have Sam and Dean in your life for the foreseeable future, so you’ve been avoiding any kind of interaction that had potential to become awkward. But now? His reaction alone makes you think you could have some fun with this.

“You’re a little shit, you know?” He calls after you as you leave the kitchen, making sure to put a little extra sway in your hips as you go, the sides of Dean’s flannel brushing your thighs through your leggings as you go.

.

.

.

You may have underestimated Dean Winchester.

You don’t know why; everything you know about him suggests he’s super competitive and there’s no reason why you should have expected him to just roll over and let you one-up him.

The _looks_ he’s been throwing your way all day… goodness. They’re enough to have you shivering every time you make eye contact, but you refuse to break first.

The three of you are in the library, doing some research for Jody and Donna who are in the shit with some kind of ancient monster. You offered to go with them, but they keep insisting they just need some intel, no muscles.

You’re cross-legged on the massive armchair in the library, two volumes of lore in your lap, and Sam is across from you on another chair, leaving Dean at the table at the other end of the room. An hour or so ago Dean came through with steaming mugs of coffee for the three of you, and you’d smiled sweetly at him as you took it, not expecting the _lingering_ contact he did with his fingers as he handed your drink over.

Every once in awhile you look over at him, and he’s already got his eyes on you, bottom lip pulled between his teeth, and it’s a real struggle not to just stand up and demand that he tell you what the fuck is going on, because what started as a joke is turning into some serious, honest-to-god bedroom eyes, and you’re pretty sure you’re going to lose it if he keeps it up.

You decide to kick it up a notch, tired of the smirks he keeps sending your way, so the next time Sam gets up to put something back on a bookshelf, you stick your leg out and catch his ankle lightly, not enough to trip him or to be obvious, but just enough that you jostle him, a splash of coffee landing on your t-shirt.

“Sorry!” He says immediately, but you wave him off.

“Eh, I’m clumsy with the coffee today,” you tell him, ignoring the feel of Dean’s eyes on you. “No harm, no foul.”

You dump the books in your lap next to you on the coffee table, and head down the corridor towards the bedroom, detouring towards Dean’s room rather than your own. Trying to be as quiet as possible, you rifle through Dean’s drawers until you find one nearly filled with plain t-shirts in a smattering of black and gray.

You smile to yourself at the way they’re folded - so meticulous and neat. You grab one off the top and quickly pull your – _Dean’s_ – flannel off, taking your coffee-stained t-shirt with it and pulling Dean’s gray one over your head before tugging the flannel back on.

You stop in your room to toss your shirt in the growing pile of laundry you have to do, and head back towards the library, making a pit stop in the kitchen so it doesn’t seem as obvious that you left just to change clothes. You’re pretty sure Dean will notice right away, but still. You can at least act subtle.

When you come back into the library, you have snacks, and Sam looks at you like he’s going to cry. “Bless you,” he says, “I haven’t eaten anything all day.”

You sigh dramatically. “Dean, why aren’t you reminding Sam to eat?”

“What do I look like?” He asks dryly, not looking up from his book, “In fact, now that Mom’s back from the dead, I don’t have to–” He stops suddenly, and you pause in your sandwich arranging task and look up at him, his eyes laser-focused on you.

“You want a sandwich?” You ask, innocently.

He narrows his eyes, but then schools his face back into nonchalance, standing up from the table. “Hey Sam, can you grab a couple beers?”

Sam agrees readily, and then you’re alone with Dean.

“You think you’re real cute, huh?” He asks, standing far closer to you than is strictly necessary.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you reply, thrusting a ham and cheese sandwich towards him. “Eat.”

He takes a step even closer, his shoulder brushing yours as his eyes travel up and down your body. “You uh…” he scratches at the back of his neck, “You out of t-shirts too?”

“This? Found it.”

“You did, huh.”

“Yep,” you say, popping the ‘p’. “It’s real soft; I might have to keep it.”

“You do that.” He murmurs, his face coming dangerously close to yours - you can practically _feel_ his stubble graze your temple as he leans around you to get a sandwich.

“Beer,” Sam says, entering the room quickly, and Dean sidesteps around you casually, but you can still feel the hair on your arms standing on end.

Yep, you definitely underestimated him.

.

.

.

It’s late, and you can’t sleep.

You’re in bed, staring at the ceiling, debating about trying to shut your eyes for a few hours, or just getting up now, even though you know it’s only three in the morning. It’s not unusual, your insomnia, but you were hoping for a solid eight hours.

You groan to yourself and decide to get up, throwing a hoodie on over your tank top and some loose sweats on before heading out to the corridor, immediately regretting your decision not to put some socks on.

“Cold, cold, cold,” you whisper to yourself as you head back to the library, hoping to stoke a fire and do some reading until you’re tired enough to fall back asleep.

You’re surprised to see a figure slumped over the table when you get there, and you stop short, your heart pounding before you realize it’s Dean.

“Idiot.” You whisper, frowning at the way his neck is bent. “Hey,” you say softly once you get close enough, touching his shoulder gently so you don’t startle him. “Dean, wake up.”

He mumbles something, and his arm snakes out before you realize what’s happening, hooking around your hip and tugging you closer, almost into his lap.

“Dean,” you hiss, but he’s either ignoring you, or not awake, because all he does is cuddle you tighter, one arm banded tight around your waist and the other resting across your knees as you sit sideways on his lap, your heart still racing.

“You’re warm,” he says drowsily, and you roll your eyes.

“Yeah, and was on my way to starting up a fire before I got sidetracked.”

“I could think of a different type of fire,” he says, and you snort, causing him to open one eye and smile at you. “I’m tired, take pity on me.”

“That was terrible.”

“You’ve never heard worse pick-up lines?”

“Please don’t.”

“Baby, are you tired?”

You groan, trying to ignore the way your heart lurches when he calls you _baby_.

“Because you’ve been running ‘round my mind all day.” His grin is absolutely _shit-eating_.

“I hate you.”

He loosens his arms as he laughs, letting you up off his lap, and then he stands, stretching out. “Can’t sleep?” He asks, taking in your rumpled appearance.

“One of those nights.”

He nods in sympathy, but tilts his head as he looks at you, smiling.

“What?” You ask, paranoid.

“Couldn’t find one of my sweatshirts?”

“I didn’t look,” you say sheepishly, being alone in the library with him like this in the early morning feeling far more intimate than any of the flirting you’d done throughout the day.

He grins, takes a few steps closer.

“Too bad. I like seeing you in my clothes.”

Another step.

“You know, you were winding me up all day.”

A few more steps, and then your back hits a bookshelf. You audibly swallow. You open your mouth, hoping for a sharp retort, but nothing comes out.

“If you don’t want me to kiss you in the next ten seconds, you better tell me right now–”

You reach for him, and don’t have to go very far to get a handful of his shirt in one hand, and you tug, until your chests are flush together. His lips land on yours more forcefully than you intended, but your heart expands when he responds instantly, his hand sliding through the tresses of your hair while the other winds around your waist, encouraging you to arch against him.

You disengage briefly to yank your hoodie over your head so you can feel more of him pressed up against more of you, and he groans into your mouth as his hand slides up the back of your tank top, the warmth of him making you shiver and moan.

He nips your bottom lip lightly as he pulls away from you, and you already know he’s grinning before you even open your eyes. “Shut up,” you say, blushing.

“I didn’t say a word.”

“But you _wanted_ to.”

He laughs, “You were right,” he tells you, eyes sparkling, “You’re irresistible, especially when you wear my clothes all day long.” He leans back in again, but stops just short of kissing you. “Wait. Does that make me an asshole? Wanting to see you in my clothes? That’s douchey, right?”

You snort, “I don’t know. I liked wearing your clothes.” You close the distance between the two of you, whispering against his lips, “I liked the way you looked at me when I wore your clothes.”

Dean swears, huffs out a breath. “Right then.” Before you can say anything, he hoists you into his arms, ignoring your noise of protest, “Time to get you out of these pajamas and into something else.” He says, starting to walk down the hallway towards his bedroom.

You don’t have any trouble getting back to sleep this time.


End file.
